


The Difference Between

by startwithsparks



Series: An Unexpected Fluff [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Body Hair, Body Image, M/M, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For my Hobbit Slash Love-Fest on Tumblr. Bilbo is insecure about his appearance/weight and Thorin reassures him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Difference Between

At first, the shift in attention from Thorin had been uncomfortable and unnerving, but after a few days of wandering slowly towards Erebor, he'd begun to find comfort in the Dwarf's ever-watchful gaze. It wasn't the heavy stare of expectation anymore, waiting for him to slip up again, but rather a careful observation, aware and watchful. He wasn't the only one who Thorin watched that way, he'd have to be completely dense to believe that, but knowing that didn't help the feeling of his skin being too tight or his limbs being too ungainly when Thorin's gaze settled on him. He didn't know how the others were able to deal with that intense focus, being the object of his attention; Thorin was a king, after all, even if he didn't have a throne to sit on or a crown on his head. But maybe the way these Dwarves knit themselves close to each other, like one large family, made it easier to see their leader as less of a king and more of a brother.

Dwarves weren't elegant the way Elves were, nor were they full of the open passion of Men, but they possessed a kind of strength that no one else Bilbo had ever known had shown. He remembered Gandalf chuckling something about how the line of Durin was strong, and while he hadn't understood the knowing lilt in the old Wizard's voice at the time, he understood it now. Thorin looked every bit the king he strived to be, regal and solid, the way Bilbo always imagined kings _should_ look. He inspired in those who followed him a kind of unyielding devotion; they were proud to fight for him until their very last breath. While he wasn't a young Hobbit anymore, and he'd put aside those childish daydreams, he remembered clearly what he imagined far-off kings and warriors would be like - and that was what he saw when he looked at Thorin.

But he was just a Hobbit, with gangly limbs, who could barely lift a sword much less wield one with the might and command that these Dwarves did. He didn't even know if he had a life worth devoting to him, much less if he would be able to make that commitment. Compared to Thorin's nephews, who had the same charisma and greatness their uncle had, what attention could he hope to capture? He was just their burglar, small and quick, with the innate ability to be unseen when he wished to be, and enough Took in him to embark on this foolish journey in the first place. He'd devoted what skills he had to them, and they seemed thankful enough for it, but there were times when Bilbo genuinely wondered how much good he would be able to do for them.

He sat now on a fallen log some way off from the others, just beyond the last fingers of light and warmth, an empty bowl cradled in his lap. He wasn't in the mood for the raucous company tonight and felt much more comfortable with his thoughts and his sword snugly at his side. Once in a while he caught a whiff of weed smoke through the brush and it made him smile fondly, wishing he'd thought to bring his own pipe with him as well. But he was enjoying being by himself, the rustle of leaves and sound of night-animals around him. But that peace didn't last long... The sound of twigs crunching underfoot abruptly disturbed his thoughts, and the bowl fell from Bilbo's lap as he reached for his sword, sliding it a few inches out of the sheath to instinctively check the blade for a glow.

"Put your weapon away..." he heard through the darkness, Thorin's voice reaching him before he ever saw the Dwarf through the darkness.

Bilbo sighed and let go of the hilt, willing his heart to stop beating so fast as he bent over to retrieve the bowl. He was fruitlessly stretching his fingers towards it when Thorin stopped, snatched it up, and set it carefully on the log next to him.

"Thank you," Bilbo murmured.

Thorin grunted and rest a hand on his sword hilt, the other on the end of his ax, as he turned away from Bilbo. He watched Thorin stare back at the rest of the company, having broken off into their respective pods now that food was gone. "Why have you not joined the others?"

Bilbo shrugged, "I wanted to be alone," he said.

The Dwarf cast a sharp look down at him, "Being alone will get you attacked out here, you've no idea the things that live in these woods."

"I don't-" Bilbo stammered, then found a little bit of assertiveness in his voice, "I don't need someone to watch over me all the time."

Thorin looked briefly taken aback, and his brow furrowed. "I am aware of that," he replied. "I told Gandalf when we began this journey that I would not be responsible for your safety, but I have seen no less than..." he trailed and drew in a breath to reluctantly offer the words, "admirably reckless behavior from you thus far, and I believe you capable enough to keep yourself out of most dire situations, but..."

"But you still need your burglar?" Bilbo offered, proud of himself for the retort. It was probably not wise to anger Thorin so soon after finding himself on his very narrow good side, but he couldn't resist the opportunity. The way Thorin grumbled at him in response and looked away made it hard for him to bite back a grin as well.

"But I'd rather not have to take the risk," he finally said, expression softening at last.

Bilbo stared back at him, head canted lightly to one side. He couldn't read Thorin yet, and didn't know if he would ever be able to; he was incredibly guarded, and with good reason, but that left Bilbo shifting uncomfortably where he sat, wondering if he'd been spending too much time with the younger Dwarves and if he should, perhaps, apologize for his comment. But Thorin cut him off at the thought and sat down on the log next to him.

"I've become fond of you, halfling..." he said, the faint note of humor in his voice strained.

Bilbo glanced over curiously. "You have?"

Thorin nodded, "Though I admit that I would prefer not to be."

He blinked, and squared his shoulders as he looked away, trying to pretend that didn't sting a little bit. Of course Thorin would prefer not to be fond of a Hobbit, he was... a _Hobbit_ , it stood to reason. But the moment of hopeful interest had been crushed so swiftly that he couldn't help feeling disappointed that he hadn't been able to hold onto it longer.

"I see," he murmured.

Thorin glanced over his shoulder down at him - even being a Dwarf, Thorin was still a good foot and some taller than Bilbo - and shook his head. "It would be unfair of me to ask anything of you, when at the end of this you will go back to your little home in Bag End and I will remain here, rebuilding _my_ home."

Bilbo blinked, certain he was misunderstanding. "What?" he muttered. "Ask... what... of me?"

"That you return the fondness," Thorin answered quickly, as if he found the words difficult to speak at all.

Bilbo shook his head, "I don't... understand," he said. Though he did understand, at a very basic level, he just didn't understand why _Thorin_ would have any sort of fondness for him other than as the unfortunate tagalong he had to keep trying to save from various dangers. He wrung the edge of his shirt between his hands, "I mean, I do, but-" he trailed off, trying to rattle the thoughts into place with another shake of his head. He finally just huffed softly and folded his hands in his lap, "I don't understand how, when you could have your pick of anyone, that you would decide to direct your fondness towards _me_ ," he said simply, trying to remove himself from the words. "After all, I'm... a Hobbit."

Thorin nodded, "And you are an extraordinary Hobbit at that," he replied. "But if you would prefer..."

"No," he shook his head. "No, I just..." Bilbo's shoulders slumped slightly, it was one thing to think it himself, but another to say it to someone else, that he didn't think he held up next to the Dwarves, that he would ever compare to their might, either physically or in the brute force they showed in battle. He clasped his hands and slid them between his knees, his heels bumping against the side of the log. "Why me?" he asked, a question he'd asked himself more often than he could count anymore, "I'm... unassertive and soft around the middle," he shrugged.

Thorin laughed affectionately, "You are anything but unassertive," he smirked, "I saw as much when you refused to be cowed by the rest of my company, and every time you've inserted yourself where you don't belong. The rest I hardly mind."

He blushed at that, though it was too dark to tell and if he were asked he'd just say that the wind blew the heat from the fire towards him and he found himself a little warm, that was all. Bilbo drew his feet up to brace against the side of the log. "Say I do return your fondness, then..." he answered, "and say I'm perfectly willing to consider it part of the adventure and leave it at that. Then what?"

"Do you?"

Bilbo nodded, though he wasn't sure fondness was really so apt a descriptor as awe and the occasional urge to attempt to _climb_ Thorin was, but it was close enough for decency. It was hardly a breath after he answered, however, that Thorin was on his feet again. His body blocked the light and heat from the fire, leaving Bilbo cast in shadow, staring up at him, as Thorin pulled off his furs and laid them on the ground between their feet. He watched Thorin brace his hands against the log and lower himself to his knees on the ground, so they were now more or less eye-to-eye. Bilbo shifted again, resting his hands next to him, the sides of them brushing against Thorin's thumbs.

He was still trying to push the _why_ from his mind when Thorin drew one hand up and cuffed Bilbo's jaw lightly, drawing him in. Bilbo had certainly been kissed before, and he'd certainly kissed other men, but certainly none of them were like Thorin. The beard was the first difference - not that Hobbit men never had beards, but Bilbo doubted any of the ones old enough to possess them were running around kissing boys anymore. The beard made it difficult to figure out what to do with his hands, trying to find a place to put them that wasn't obscured by gray-streaked hair. He finally rest his hands awkwardly on Thorin's chest, curling chubby fingers in the leather and canvas. Thorin took that as encouragement to go on, and dropped his hand away from Bilbo's jaw to clasp around his side instead.

Bilbo tried not to squirm at the touch, or the feel of Thorin's thick hands settling on him, but the weight of that hand on him was almost as jarring as the unfamiliarity of Thorin's beard. He quickly decided that it wasn't a bad jarring though - rather, it was like a sudden dawning, the realization. It didn't diminish the playful fumbling he'd experienced in Bag End, or the brief affairs that turned as warm and fleeting as the summer air, it was just heavier in a way he couldn't know he enjoyed this much. His fingers slipped daringly inward towards the collar of his shirt, finding it impossible to get any closer with Thorin's armor in the way. Bilbo huffed faintly against the kiss and pulled back.

"You're impatient," Thorin murmured, lifting his head to survey the woods around them.

He could see that Thorin was listening to the woods, for things that Bilbo didn't know to be aware of yet. But after a moment he reached down and unbuckled his belt, letting it drop next to him before putting his sword well within reach. The shirt of armor came off next, pulled off carefully and laid on the other side, then he finally slid off his bracers and put them neatly to the side. The shirt he wore underneath it all was still thick and heavy, but at least Bilbo could find his way to a bit of skin now, working his fingers through laces to slide through the coarse hair on Thorin's chest. While he was distracted, more interested in the warmth that seemed to radiate from Thorin's skin, the Dwarf reached out and began unbuttoning Bilbo's waistcoat, and then went to work on the delicate buttons of his shirt.

At the first brush of fingers against his collarbone, Bilbo froze. He felt warmth suddenly rush to his cheeks again, and his hands went back to his collar, trying to quickly do up the buttons Thorin had undone, stammering softly.

"Is there something the matter?"

Bilbo shook his head too quickly, too tense, to be telling the truth, and Thorin raised an eyebrow doubtfully at him. Slowly, he tried to unclench his hands, and found them shaking slightly when he did. "No," Bilbo shook his head, "no, it's not that at all, it's just..." He shrugged softly, running his hand over his pocket to make sure the ring was still stuffed deep inside. "Are you still quite sure you want to do this?" he asked, voice even more of a whisper than before.

It took him a moment, but Thorin eventually pulled back, sighing gently. It didn't have the same tone of exhaustion or derision that Thorin's sighs held before now, but rather an understanding. He reached out again and tipped Bilbo's head up. "There's nothing wrong with you, halfling..." he said. "You're as good as any man, only... more compact. I don't wish to hear any more about this. If it were a Dwarf I wanted, it would be a Dwarf I would have; but it is you."

"But _why_?" Bilbo asked again, trying to gather himself together again, even though he looked nearly as disheveled as he felt.

"Why?" he repeated, then shook his head. "I've asked myself the same question and yet to find a suitable reason why I shouldn't. Unless you would prefer I stopped?"

He shook his head again, as quickly as before, and tried to force the tension from his shoulders. "If you don't think you're going to be disappointed..."

Thorin snorted, "I have been disappointed by Dwarves aplenty. You, however, have only surprised me in turn."

While that didn't completely eradicate Bilbo's discomfort, the ease at which Thorin dismissed his fears was actually more reassuring than anything. He stopped clutching at his jacket and waistcoat and let his hands fall to his sides again. "Okay..." he said.

Thorin offered him a gentle nod, leaning up on his knees enough to wrap his arms around Bilbo's waist and draw him forward off the log. Bilbo landed with his toes in rough fur, having to stop himself from toppling over against Thorin's chest. When he got his bearings under him again and rose up, he was looking down at Thorin, who was slowly undoing the buttons of Bilbo's shirt from the bottom. He wanted to recoil and cover himself up still, but he curled his fingers tightly in Thorin's shirt instead, forcing himself to remain still while Thorin did away with his shirt. All the while his cheeks got redder and redder, and by the time Thorin had finished with it, he was squeezing his eyes shut as well.

He felt the Dwarf's beard scratch against is bare chest, then Thorin's lips pressed to his collarbone, and slowly down the center of his chest, until he had hold of the back of Bilbo's thighs and his lips were brushing attentively across his belly. He let out a whine deep in his throat, only to blush deeper and mentally beg that no one else heard it. But Thorin's gaze flicked upward and he smiled from where he was crouched down.

"Lean back," he said, sliding a hand up to rest on Bilbo's lower back, easing him against the log again.

Bilbo braced himself on it with his elbows, tentatively twining his fingers in Thorin's hair as he shifted lower. The buttons of Bilbo's trousers came undone next, a welcome relief from how tight they'd become in the last few minutes. As Thorin's mouth slipped warmly around him, he found himself very glad he had something to hold onto. Bilbo buried his fingers deeper in Thorin's hair and drew in a heavy, unsteady breath, feeling the muscles in his thighs tense under the urge to flinch forward. This was not a position he thought he'd ever be in and he was very much trying not to think about the crown that would one day rest on Thorin's head as the Dwarf pressed ever lower, until his nose jut up against Bilbo's soft belly. He clung tighter, bringing up a hand to bite down on the loose fabric of his shirt, keeping himself as quiet as possible. It wouldn't do for the rest of the company to happen upon this, largely because if they did, it would stop.

Thorin moved slowly, which was both a blessing and a curse. Bilbo had time to get used to every new moment, but he also had time to feel the urgency that came with every new moment. Thorin's hands found their place on the curves of his sides, fingers sliding over his stomach. It wasn't much longer at all before Bilbo's knees went weak and his toes curled in the fur under him, but Thorin still didn't pull away, not until his body had relaxed again and Bilbo tried vainly to slump back against the log.

When he did pull away, it was only to reach for his shirt, tugging it off over his head and laying it on top of the rest of his clothing. Then he drug one thick arm around Bilbo's waist again and tugged him in, hauling him completely off his feet as he sat back and got comfortable on top of his things. A few abrupt movements later and Bilbo was sprawled against Thorin's chest, his own smooth skin against the hard, rough flesh beneath him. Thorin tucked an arm underneath his head and brought the other up to slide his fingers through Bilbo's hair. "Another advantage of your form," he smirked, "is that there is a rare Dwarf I've met who I can put where I want and keep them there."

Bilbo didn't need anyone to explain to him the implication, and he had the decency still to duck his head against Thorin's shoulder. "I-uh..." he started, "should I return the favor?"

Thorin smirked and shrugged, "If it pleases you. Though I imagine you have much less of a point to prove."

"You'd be imagining right," Bilbo nodded, pushing himself up until he was practically straddling Thorin. He dragged his hands through his hair, trying to look less like a rumpled mess, but Thorin just chuckled and gazed up at him.

"Remarkable," he hummed. "I could grow partial to this view."


End file.
